"If I thought he lived——" observed Wood. ” Mike blurted, his voice swallowed by the throb of loud music. Detention would mean coming home late, which spelled distraction and trouble on the night of a kill. “How unkind!” she exclaimed. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. It would not have been for her an anomaly to read a love story in which there were no kisses. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. " "In what way, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, in astonishment. "There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow.
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